A Test of Strength
by Jolie en Rose
Summary: Sometimes a quick decision is the worst one you can make. Please R&R!


**Disclaimer: I do not own the Clique**

Have you ever imagined where you'd be or what you'd be doing when you were twenty-one? Maybe you'd be in a club celebrating your new ID, maybe you'd be in a car driving with your honey to somewhere where you could be alone, maybe you'd even be at work making good money, happily independent. Well, I'm twenty-one and I'm sitting in a bus terminal with nothing but a battered duffel and a dream. Not to mention an ugly scar on my left cheek, but I'll tell you about that later. How did Kristen Gregory, one time all star in everything sink so low? Well, that's quite a story, and while I'm sitting here I might as well regale you with my tale.

Now before anything else, you have to know one thing and one thing only, I loved Chris Plovert. Oh we were a great couple, I had never felt so much love for one person before, and I know he felt the same way. We got married when we were nineteen. NINETEEN. We only had one year of college under our belts, but we didn't care. May 16 was the best day of my life. We pulled together our savings and the envelopes we were generously graced with at the wedding and got a small apartment. Everything was just perfect. We were so young, we figured everything would just work out so we did little else then break in our new bed and make grilled cheese sandwiches on our George Foreman. We were going to have the perfect summer, the perfect marriage, the perfect life.

Then on July 9 tragedy struck. Mrs. Plovert, Chris' mother, not me, passed from a freak case of pneumonia. Chris and I were devastated. It was just so hard to believe that only two months ago we were celebrating, and now we had to stand there as Chris' mother, my mother-in-law was lowered into her untimely grave. I felt so horrible for my lover; I knew he and his mother had had a close relationship. Like me, Chris was also an only child, so he was Mrs. Plovert's world, her baby. I didn't know what to do, so I coaxed him into doing the only thing we knew how to do; we broke in the bed more. A lot.

Things only got increasingly worse from there. While Mrs. Plovert's wishes in her will were for Chris to inherit a large sum of money as well as a house, New York law concluded that everything should go to Mr. Plovert. While this in itself was not a travesty, what led from it most certainly was. Not only was Mr. Plovert vehemently against sharing any of the money, he also withdrew Chris' trust fund and refused to continue financially supporting Chris' education. To this day I don't know if this was a reflex of grief, somehow revenge for his love's death, or just an outburst of hate, but the one thing I was sure of was that this left my husband and I in quite a pickle.

We had a talk and Chris agreed I should at least continue my run at college. I said I didn't have to do that, but he promised he'd get a full-time job and would keep us afloat. I was so young that I believed him. The only problem was that there weren't many people jumping at the chance to hire a young man with little more then a high school degree. I continued my job as a salesgirl at Macy's and took as much overtime as they offered me. I was determined to bring in as much money until my guy pulled through for us, which I was extremely convinced he would at the time.

By the time I began classes on August 12 Chris did find a job as a cabdriver. It didn't pull in a great amount of money, certainly not what a Plovert would be used to, but it was full time and did have full benefits. I remained optimistic as I juggled a four day school schedule, five days of work a week, and maintaining our home. At first we just smiled through it and convinced each other and each other that it was a transition and was only temporary. We loved each other dearly and that was going to get us through anything the world could throw at us.

Then one cold winter day after a fruitless Christmas and New Year I was cooking us some spaghetti for dinner when Chris came home and I knew he wasn't himself. His gate was wobbly, his pupils were dilated, and he had booze on his breath. I was actually pretty taken aback since I had never seen Chris drink before. I was both worried and sorrowful, but he assured me everything was all good, and to prove it he handed over his paycheck. The money balance was exactly what it should have been so my mind was eased a bit. He then wrapped his drunken arms around me and gave me a sloppy stinking kiss. Still, I was a sucker for my new man, and I believed him when he said everything was okay. So we ate in peace.

Just when I had gotten that night out of my head perhaps two months later, something similar happened. He was nice and liquored up again, but this time he didn't bring his whole check. He had been low on pocket money and used some of his cash to fill up with the boys. I was still a little bit concerned, but I figured he was just stressed. After all in less then one year he had been bumped from prince to pauper, all while trying to support two people on his meager pay. It was in his right to unwind after a hard day, and I couldn't find any reason why he didn't deserve a little break. So I shrugged it off.

The next time he came home intoxicated was sometime that April, but this time a whole quarter of his money was missing. He said he was just out with the boys and he didn't realize how much he had spent. He swore once he realized what had happened he rushed home. He then gave me a sweet slanted smile and looked at me with his big blue eyes, and I couldn't oppose. Especially because under those baby blues I had fallen in love with were serious dark circles. He was exhausted, and I was part of the reason. At that moment I couldn't deny him anything, so when he leaned in for an apologetic kiss we ended up breaking in that damn bed again. Two days later, I used my check the pay the electric bill.

By our first anniversary I had let those three nights slip my mind. By now they were ancient history, locked in a time that neither of us knew or cared to know. He bought me roses and a teddy bear and I bought him a new dress shirt and shoes. Everything was wonderful and I was just so enchanted that after twelve months I could still call myself Mrs. Plovert. As most of these little snippets end, that stupid bed may have just lost a spring or two. And I even made us a pair of grilled cheese sandwiches to celebrate out union.

Then, that weekend, the most devastating thing that I think I had ever encountered happened. Once again the love of my life stumbled into the apartment drunk as a mule, half of his pay used up for drinks and bets. The prospect that he was both drinking and gambling with our money when he was underage no less finally got to me and I confronted him. He tried to smile his way out of trouble, but for some reason that day I wasn't taking that as an answer. I continued to argue against his poor judgment and his face grew dark. He roared, I screamed. Then suddenly I felt something sharp against my right cheek. I stopped right there in that moment, too shocked to even think. His teeth were clenched and his eyes ablaze. Tears welled up in my eyes and I ran into our bedroom and locked the door. That night only one body lay on the squeaky over-used bed.

The next day I was immersed with apologies, flowers, chocolates, you name it. Even when I was in taking my math final a balloon-o-gram was sent to the room from none other then Chris. I cracked half a smile when I saw the balloons were all blue. Blue like my favorite color. Blue like his huge eyes that I just wanted to fall into. Blue like my eyes that adored him so. But also blue like the mark under my eye. I didn't look up from my paper again until we had to hand them in.

When I got home, sitting on the couch twiddling his thumbs nervously was none other then Chris. He leapt up to embrace me tightly and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I had to admit I loved the way he held me. Plus he presented to me a flat velvet box. Inside was an emerald pendant. Emerald like our anniversary. I asked him where he got the money and he just whispered that nothing was too expensive for his love. We had been without such luxuries for so long, and I had been working so hard that I forgave him and wore my new jewelry proudly. I now realize that he got that money from a bet he had won, and that that was not an authentic emerald.

To my dismay the new ceasefire didn't last as long as I would have hoped. Not five weeks had passed when Chris came home not just happily tipsy, but belligerently intoxicated. I tried to proceed with caution and play nice-ish but when I asked innocently where the money was, the air seemed to change. He growled, he snarled and I felt another sharp wincing pain across my cheek. At the time I just ran back into the bedroom and cried my eyes out. What I came to realize soon after was that there was no money, and it may be a very long time before there was any anymore. I had to stretch my money a little bit further, and even spend the pennies I had been saving from anniversary cards.

That night, I received a phone call. Actually the call wasn't supposed to be for me per say, the caller was Josh, Chris' best friend and best man. I told him Chris was sleeping, in reality he was passed out on the couch, victim to his own vices. So, I talked to him. Not Kristen, Chris Plovert's stupid bride, Kristen one time sporty confident teen. It was nice to get lost in a conversation with someone from my past. Someone who didn't know what was happening, someone who I could just pretend to be that little girl with again. I was oddly sad to hang up.

I was apologized to again the next day, and this time I was offered a box of premium Godiva chocolates as a truce. I had to admit the smooth cocoa felt wonderful trickling down my parched throat, but it didn't quite mask the sting of a bruise on a sore spot, and I don't just mean my cheek. I meant my heart. I looked up at him and he gave me a stupid lopsided grin. I glared. He took me in his arms and said we should go away for a while, escape the pressure. I reminded him, not without venom, that we didn't have any funds for something like that.

I could feel my heart growing blacker and blacker as I just looked at the man who was supposed to be the love of my life. He got drunk more often, but the beatings were sprinkled about much more sparingly. I tried to half ignore it, but one night in early August we had our worst fight ever. Again he returned to me a useless heap without a nickel for his old wife, and I was not shy in telling him so. So he suggested, "suggested" that I not go back to school. I just glared at him. This idea festered in his head for a minute or two before he was totally convinced and was going to knock it into me. I refused, but he had already concocted the plot in his head. I would quit college, but still accept the checks from my parents as well as work full time. I "explained" that I did not personally accept my parents' checks, the school did. My eye took the brunt of that argument.

So I endured two or so weeks of menacing glares from my own husband until I could escape on campus. College was hard, don't get me wrong, but the sheer fact that it gave me a distraction made it heaven on Earth for me. I still brought in money from my job and left Chris a clean home and a dinner, but other then that I detached from anything involving that tiny apartment that had become such a hellhole. So detached that I didn't notice that Chris had been sitting on our couch for three weeks straight. It hit me one evening when I was folding a beautiful cashmere sweater; he had been fired.

When I got home I asked him why. I was surprised that he told me simply and calmly it was nepotism that did him in. I later realized that nepotism had nothing to do with it; he had been drinking on the job and had gotten a nasty DUI. But, he was just himself that night, tranquil and sober, so I nodded my head and asked him to start looking for another job. He promised me he would.

The leaves started turning amber, but my Chris did not find a job. Regardless, I could still smell the lingering odor of alcohol everytime I stepped foot into my personal demise. I could also notice that my wallet had been growing suspiciously lighter these days. I knew he was stealing, but I chose to ignore it. Instead I tried to hide any money I had creatively. Of course this was no use, he was home twelve hours a day, plenty of time to ransack for booze tender.

It was a haggard October evening; I had just come home from a double shift when Chris invited me to sit with him at the kitchen table. I saw only two empty bottles, so I figured I was safe enough. I sat down, not quite sure of what to expect. He told me I really needed to drop out, we needed the money. I was taken aback that this thought had once again popped into his head. I flat out refused, too tired to say very much more. Then he did something I will never forget, he took my hand, gently...maybe even tenderly, and said that we needed to ask my parents for money.

At that moment no amount of fatigue could hold back my explosion. I would NOT bring my parents, who had been nothing but generous to me, and US, into this mess. Plus, I added at the end of my tirade that I was the only one who was bringing in any money around here since his extended unemployment. He just ran his hand down his face like he was an aggravated parent trying to coax a hyper five-year-old unsuccessfully. Then he glared at me as he got his coat and stomped out to the tavern two blocks down. I wouldn't doubt with my money in his pocket.

I started getting really nervous as November rolled around. My family always holds a huge, elaborate Thanksgiving feast, and as an only child, it was almost a requirement that I attend. I just knew that if Chris and I went that he would ask for money. I had to stop this from happening, but I really didn't know how. Luckily for me Chris landed ass first into a job as a bartender in Kemp's nightclub. At first I rolled my eyes and snarled that he would be right around his poison 24/7, but I knew that Kemp had only good intentions and didn't know what this exactly meant. So I sent him a thank you card and a beautiful new black trench (employee discount). Then I found out that Chris was going to have to work on Thanksgiving, and I was jubilant. Not only did I not have to worry about Chris talking to my parents, I got to spend a whole day with seeing or worrying about him. This was going to be the best vacation I could have ever dreamed of.

Well, I must admit the holiday was just wonderful, I hadn't seen food like that for months. Despite me having to dodge and deflect good-natured questions about my marriage and the bluish tint on the right side of my face, it was the most restful day I had had in a long time. More then once I imagined how my life would have been if I'd stayed home a few more years, I couldn't believe that I was sitting at the window of the life I gave up. I knew I was always welcome in my parents' home, but I sometimes felt way too ashamed to acknowledge the foolish mistake I had made.

When I got home late that night I found Chris, Kemp and a bunch of guys I didn't know sitting at the kitchen table playing a game of cards. Innocent enough, except I had a creeping suspicion that my money was on the table and I was never going to see it again. Chris tried to make me the little waitress, but the other guys at least had some discretion. They all politely told me they were happy to meet me and I had a nice home. I was too tired to make a scene, so I just excused myself to bed while the boys gambled away their lives, and possibly mine.

While I never saw Chris' full paycheck, anything that he did bring in helped my cause even if it was just a little bit. I started to really hate myself for getting myself in this situation. I didn't know how I'd fallen in love with this man. Our home was calm enough until about a week before Christmas. Apparently I had been spending too much of "his" money on things as simple as the ham I had volunteered to cook for my mother. I guess that really pushed my buttons because I just screamed at him at the top of my lungs that he was a deadbeat and just a horrible person. So he twisted my arm a few times. Honestly while it did hurt, I was actually pretty bored with the whole situation. I was more interested in what he'd but me the next day with the money he stole from my purse.

Ironically enough I found a Guess purse prematurely under our tiny tree. I guess he expected me to throw him on the bed in ecstasy because he just had this look of anticipation on his face when he gave me my compensation. I didn't feel like getting a broken bone that day so I just stayed solemn and quiet about the whole thing. As much as I wanted to shriek that material presents weren't going to make me forget what he did to me continuously, but I knew I couldn't afford a splint.

I gathered together any extra money I could as well as enough employee discounts to scrounge up some Christmas presents for my family. There were no presents either from or for me under my tree, and I couldn't have cared less. I rang in the New Year with another alcohol-tasting kiss from Chris; half hoping that that year may be calm and prosperous. To help convince myself that things were going to change like my husband promised they would, I broke out the old bed breakin' black box. Heaven knew I wasn't going without security.

Too bad for me but the drinking didn't stop even though we started a new calendar. I took a few good knocks, but tried to focus on my school business. I was so happy that I hadn't given up, but I was extremely overwhelmed. Finally months of exhaustion, animosity, sorrow, venom, and anything else you could imagine came out one horrible night that May, only days after the big 24-month anniversary. When I got home I discovered that not only had Chris knocked back a whole bottle of pilfered vodka himself, he had pawned off our wedding rings and swept the reward clean in another "friendly" card game with the boys.

I immediately exploded about everything. At first he ignored me or pushed me aside harshly to get out of his way. Then I did the most immature thing I could have, I kicked him. I knew it was a stupid thing to do, but I couldn't hold myself back. I surprised him because his back was turned to me and he stumbled over, but not for long. He violently grabbed my legs and pulled me to the floor and pinned me. I later giggled that this reminded me of our third night in that apartment, but at the time I knew it was serious. He pressed his clenched hands against my wrists so I couldn't move. He put his face two inches from mine and snarled that I shouldn't have done that and shouldn't ever again. I was just so fed up with him and everything he had ever done so I honked one back and spit right in his eye.

He lifted one hand to wipe his face, so I took this opportunity to knee him right in the gut. He knocked back slightly so I slipped out of his grip as quickly as I could. He responded by knocking me against the wall by my throat. Losing the use of my upper body, I stepped on his bare foot in what I was glad were my espadrilles. Clouded in a rage that I was retaliating, he grabbed the only weapon he knew, his empty bottle and knocked it against my head. In the last second I had turned my face so all he got was the left side of my face. The force he put in that bottle paired with its contents coursing through his veins made him lose his equilibrium and he fell like the mighty oak. Seeing he wasn't getting up for the night I did the only thing I could think to do. I called Josh.

I had been so comfortable talking to him that first time that I had kept his number and called him whenever things between Chris and I got rough, never actually revealing the details. But having a bottle broken on my face was the straw that broke the camel's back and I spilled me guts to him. He told me to pack my bags and he'd be over to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I ran around like a speeding bullet collecting my things, euphoric that this all might be over finally. Josh's silver Mercedes couldn't show up sooner. He just hugged me tightly and told me he was going to bring me to his townhouse in Manhattan (humorously enough Josh had taken over the Ralph Lauren business after the man himself stepped down to retire).

So here I am sitting in this bus depot, no more then $500 to my name, hopefully about to start my new life. Josh told me once I got settled in the city he would find me a job selling his Josh Polos. I asked him what Massie would think about him taking care of me, but he said he was taking good enough care of her, and I saw that familiar bed breakin' look in his eye. And at that moment I was going to be okay, and I unclasped the fake emerald pendant around my neck, pressed my lips against it and left it on the bench as I boarded the bus with Josh.


End file.
